


I’m holding on a tightrope, I know I’m not coming home

by moonjidaisy



Series: Eccedentesiast (n); someone who hides pain behind a smile [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Author projecting through Han Jisung, Character Development, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hospital, M/M, Mention of school bullying, Mentioned of Blood and Scars, OT8, Self-Destructive, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vent Writing, all members mentioned, description of scars, idk what else to tag hhh, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonjidaisy/pseuds/moonjidaisy
Summary: He swore he tried his best. Trying to deal with everything by himself, suppressing all the thoughts and emotions, trying to not be a burden for everyone else. But apparently, it was all going against him at the end. He was finally falling, breaking, and shattering.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: Eccedentesiast (n); someone who hides pain behind a smile [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214354
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	I’m holding on a tightrope, I know I’m not coming home

**Author's Note:**

> i need to stop doing this to minsung istg. but at least they got happy ending here (:  
> posted with no proofread cus i know i will only ended up deleting everything if i read this again lmao  
> enjoy i guess (:
> 
> also the title is from Marina Lin's song entitled "this is what a self-destruction feels like"

“I think I need a break,” he said. His eyes fixed to the floor, the heel of his right feet moving upwards—fidgeting on the cold tiles with his toes. He didn't even dare to take a glance, nor studying Chan’s expression as he said that. He was sure the leader would find a way to work things out for him, but still. It was terrifying.

“I can discuss that,” Chan said in his calm tone. A soft sigh slipped out of Jisung’s lips, he drifted his sight upwards, meeting Chan’s concerned eyes. The older’s lips parted slightly when he asked, “Mind to tell me why?” while putting his hand on Jisung’s shoulder, trying to reassure the younger that he won’t judge anything he said. 

However—it was surprising for Chan as well—Jisung shook his head. A weak grin appeared on his face as a veneer on his hidden pain when he carefully removed Chan’s hand from his shoulder. “I’m just exhausted and drained, hyung,” he said, taking the older’s hand on his—rubbing his thumb softly. “I just need some time to recharge, which is almost impossible for now.” 

“Okay, that’s fine. We can work on it,” he replied. Jisung returned another weak smile to the older, before walking outside the room with a soft _thank you_. That’d be a lie if Chan said the younger’s action these days wasn’t concerning, but a part of himself still wanted to trust him. A part of himself still wanted to believe—and hoping—that Jisung is mature enough to take care of himself. So, he decided to pick up his phone and ask their manager straight away. 

“What are you talking about with Chan hyung?” a sharp voice was heard as soon Jisung arrived at his room. He took a glance, it was Jeongin. He was sitting on his bed, legs swinging up and down. Jisung will never get bored staring into the maknae’s eyes. His fox-sharp eyes were filled with innocence, like a white paper with no stain. He has always had this vibrant aura shining brightly from him, spreading joy and happiness that could light the entire room with his smile. 

Jisung let out a soft chuckle, making his way to his bed on top of Jeongin’s. His right-hand ruffling Jeongin’s soft hair for a moment, before he climbed on the stairs and laid on his bed. Another deep sigh slipped out of his lips, and he said, “I’m considering taking a break from our schedule.” 

Jeongin eyes widened, standing up on the side of their bed immediately and staring into Jisung—who was laying down facing the wall—with both his hands crossed upon his chest. “Why?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed and slight concern in his tone. 

The late realization hit the youngest immediately. How long has it been since the last time Jisung clung to him with his lips pouting and clearly asking for kisses? When was the last time he saw Jisung actually sleeping? Jisung always sleeps after Jeongin, and whenever Jeongin woke up—even in the middle of the night—he never found Jisung on his bed. Was Jisung even sleeping? 

“Hyung,” he said, dragging the “u” slightly longer. He gulped, suddenly nervous about the question he was about to ask. Terrified about the answers, even though he wasn’t sure he would get any honest answer from the older. “Are you okay?” he asked, carefully. 

“I’m fine, Innie,” came Jisung’s low voice. He turned over, facing the maknae who was standing right below him—his head peeked through the edge of his bed. He extended his arm and ruffled the youngest’s hair once more, smiling when he heard him whining. “I'm just a bit exhausted,” he said. “So, I just need some time to- you know... Dealing with myself.” 

“You will stay here or move back to your house?” Jeongin asked curiously, Jisung was his roommate after all. 

Jisung cooed over his question, finding him adorable. “What is this, Innie? You don’t want to sleep alone without me?” he teased, poking Jeongin’s cheeks softly. Jeongin could only sigh. From the three years he spent with Jisung, he realized Jisung had this particular tactic whenever he didn’t want to talk about something too deeply about himself. Laugh it off and run from it. 

“You know you can always tell us whenever you’re going through something, right hyung?” he asked, more rhetorically. He dropped his voice to a low-serious tone. He wanted Jisung to know he was serious about this. They all care. So much. 

“I know, Innie. Of course I do,” he answered after a few seconds of silence. His voice slightly cracked at the end, but fortunately—or unfortunately?—Jeongin seemed to lose too deep inside his thoughts to realize. He beamed towards the older softly, and just by the concerned and caring look in Jeongin’s eyes, Jisung had almost found himself tearing up. But he barely held those tears inside his doe eyes, he was always good at it, after all. “Can you promise me?” Jeongin asked, holding out his pinky towards the older. 

Jisung stared at Jeongin’s long pinky for a split second, before hesitantly intertwining their pinky. He knew there is no way he would be able to keep that promise, so he said, “I promise I will try, okay?” granting a satisfied nod from the younger.

Soon Jeongin went out of their room to watch a drama with Hyunjin, leaving Jisung alone, staring blankly at the white ceiling. His mind was recalling his promise with Jeongin when he silently laughed at himself. There is no way he could tell his problems to him. It was just impossible. 

Jeongin was a blank canvas for Jisung, and other members as well. Chan had mentioned it on one of his weekly vlive, and he said Jeongin has become a beautiful painting as he grows up. 

_Jeongin was a blank canvas, and now has become a beautiful painting._ He repeated inside his head. He would never have the heart to ruin their beautiful painting with his dark palette. 

Jisung _was_ colorful. He was a little boy shining so brightly with various vibrant colors. But at some point as he grew older, it seemed like those colors were starting to blend with themselves too well, overwhelming him with their blinding vibrant and suddenly, they reflected less and fewer colors, leaving him with nothing but darkness. Maybe even darker than black, if there was such a thing.

How could he tell his members about his poisonous thoughts? They were all beautiful paintings Jisung could ever witness. Chan with his soft-pastel colors and strong-firm lines when he was meant to take control. Changbin with his dark shadows, contrasting a colorful rainbow hidden between them. Minho is a painting of a beautiful night sky, tints of comforting navy blue with soft yellow and white in the form of moon and stars. 

Hyunjin with his pastel colors, showing his big and vulnerable—but also strong—heart, Felix with bright and warm yellow with some dark shadow hidden subtly within the sunlight, Seungmin with his soft but also colorful; showing off his playful side, and some firm lines just like Chan; emphasizing his strict self-control, and Jeongin with his bright landscape that is still progressing. How could Jisung dare to stain their beautiful paintings with his black-depressing color? 

He wanted to run away. From all of them. He didn’t want to ruin them even more. 

Just when a drop of tears rolled down his cheeks, the door was suddenly opened. Jisung startled, brought up his hand to wipe his cheeks immediately—preparing to put on a smile mask above it. But a strong hand held his wrist before he could, pulling his hand off from his cheeks—revealing a single trace of tears still sparkling wet on his cheeks. 

“Hannie,” he said. The mentioned boy’s eyes gazed down slowly, locking with the older’s pair of dark brown eyes. That was all it took for Jisung to lose it. More tears rolling down, no matter how hard he tried to stop them from keeping welling up. He couldn’t hold it back. Not when Minho was staring right into his eyes, with his strong gaze pricking through Jisung’s soul, peeling layers by layers of fake emotions he built as a guard. 

“Hey,” he called, wiping Jisung’s tears on his cheeks. The ring of his voice pulling out more tears out of the younger’s eyes. A fond-reassuring smile appeared on his face as he took Jisung’s hand in his, rubbing his knuckles softly. “Chan hyung told me,” he started, pausing for a moment while looking into Jisung’s damp eyes. “You’re doing great, Hannie. I’m really proud of you. It's hard to tell someone you need a break, you know... so yeah, I'm proud of you for asking for that” 

Jisung chuckled in between his cry, mustering up the strength to smile. “Did Chan hyung ask you to say that?” he asked teasingly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. When he opened his eyes again, he was granted with Minho’s pout and narrowed look, hands on his hips. 

“No, he didn’t,” he said, his pout deepened. “You really can’t just listen to me without joking, huh?” 

“The other option is to face my feelings and drown inside them, so no. I can't,” Jisung scoffed, moving his blanket away and climbed down his bed. Standing in front of Minho, he decided to take a few seconds to just look at the older, admiring his beauty. 

His eyes holding numerous alluring constellations, shimmering gracefully for anyone to see and admire. His dark brown eyebrows beautifully sculptured like cupid’s bow, and the way the sun rays’ crimson glitter sparked on his hair so perfectly pleasing for his eyes to see, Jisung could write an essay just about how gorgeous Minho looked. 

_He really didn’t deserve him._

The voices that had been lingering inside his head started to echo, ringing painfully and pounding his eardrums. He didn’t deserve him, and Minho, he deserves someone better. Someone that isn't as vulnerable as him, someone that doesn't break and shatter so easily just with a knock of the cold wind. Minho deserves someone better than him.

“Hyung, I’m- I’m really sorry but I need to go,” Jisung stuttered, moving his legs in a hurry—leaving Minho with a frown on his face. He really needed to go. He couldn’t give into those voices there. Not in front of Minho. 

He bumped into Changbin who just came from the bathroom, Jisung swear he felt his knees just wobbled and he almost crashed into the floor if it wasn't Changbin's grip on his shoulder that kept him standing on both his feet. Choosing to ignore Changbin’s concerned look and his soft “are you okay?”, Jisung walked inside the bathroom, pushing the door close and rotated the key. It was locked now. He was finally alone, in a safe place to completely break. 

He gave in, sitting on the shower tile with waters splashing on him strongly. He turned the shower to its fullest strength, so his gasp and whimper would not be heard from outside. He buried his head on his knees, his right-hand sneaking under his shirt—finding its way to the old scars on his stomach—desperate for a relapse.

He needed it. He felt suffocated, faint, he couldn’t feel anything between these voices that continued to scream the hell out of his eardrums. He couldn’t feel the cold—or hot? He didn’t even recognize whether he turned on the cold or hot shower—as the water ran down his skin, he couldn’t feel the icy tiles touching his feet. He was drowned inside the air, barely getting any of those same air inside his aching lungs. He couldn’t even breathe.

His sense just blacked out and went numb. He was desperate; he needed to feel something. Anything. He needed the stinging pain to keep him alive. To give him control of his body.

His right hand slowly dug on his stomach’s skin, scratching as deep as he could. Blood was flushing on the shower’s tiles down to the drain as more water swept over his body, and Jisung reveled in the sting that spread through his abdomen. He could feel the cold air rushing down his aching throat as his breath was getting more even and the freezing cold of the water slowly creeping his skin. He could finally feel the pain he desperately needed. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

  
  


_I can't help it, I feel numb_

_I’ll wait for the waves to leave and come_

_I think I’m breaking_

  
  


“Anyone has seen Jisung?” Chan asked worriedly. He hasn’t seen Jisung in the studio—they were supposed to talk about Jisung’s hiatus, but Jisung was nowhere to be seen—so when he finally arrived at the dorm, he was hoping to see Jisung. His face was relaxed for a moment when he saw all the members were sitting on the couch. But it only lasted for a good split second until he realized Jisung was not with them and they were exchanging concerned looks at each other. 

“Jisung hyung hasn’t been out of the bathroom since this evening,” Jeongin said quietly. Chan’s eyes widened at his statement, glancing at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. “Have any of you tried to knock on the door?” he asked, panic wandered on his eyes.

“We did,” Minho answered this time. “We did and there was no answer.” 

Chan was just about to knock on the door again when the knob suddenly rotated. The door cracked open with seven pairs of eyes intensely staring into it, and Jisung was standing behind the door, smiling as if he wasn’t just disappearing for almost 5 hours in the bathroom. He walked outside and pushed the door back closed, turning himself so he was facing everyone and said, 

“I’m sorry.” He moved his hand to the back of his neck, restlessly rubbing on it. “I fell asleep while showering,” he continued. He could tell from the way their eyebrows turned up and their mouths turned down that they wouldn't believe him. 

“Jisung,” Chan said, glaring into the younger. “Are you telling us the truth?” Jisung nodded, trying his best to look at the older with a reassuring gaze. 

“I’m sorry I made you worried about me, I’m fine, really.”

_Of course, he couldn’t tell the others that he was actually waiting for the bleeding to stop before wearing his shirt again._

“Have you talked about what I asked earlier, hyung?” he asked, trying to change the topic. He saw from the corner of his eyes that some members were frowning; not knowing what Jisung was talking about. Chan nodded, telling him to come to his room after this to talk about that. The younger was about to head back to his room when Seungmin broke the silence and said,

“You have eaten nothing, Sung. Why don’t you go eat dinner? We can come with you.” 

“Yayyyyy dinnerrrr,” Jisung responded with a lackluster cheer, determined to at least attempt to appear appropriately relieved at the news. 

It was the only quality he was consistently proud of. His ability to lie, mislead, and conceal was one built up from years of meticulous practice. Sometimes it scared him, just how easy it had become to invent cover-ups and present them convincingly. “It’s from my cat.”—Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a cat in proper life. "I ate earlier."—Jisung hadn't had a proper appetite in years. "I'm just tired."—Jisung had been feeling numb and hollow for far too long. It was second nature to him at this point, the secrecy providing comfort and keeping him hidden from judgmental eyes.

_I'm not a liar,_

_I've just got secrets I can't confess._

“Hannie?” Minho’s voice echoed through the four walls bedroom, a few seconds after he knocked on the door. He walked inside after Jisung let him, and proceeded to sit on Jeongin’s bed where Jisung was laying on, his eyes fixed to his phone. He took a glance at Minho, finding a first-aid kit in his hand.

“Give me your hand,” he asked, caressing the younger’s cheeks softly with his thumb. Jisung pouted, knowing what was going to happen but still offering his right hand anyway. 

Minho took Jisung’s hand, flipping it over, and beamed sadly at some fresh cuts under his sleeve. He glanced at the younger—still watching some documentary stuff on his phone, probably National Geographic channel—and started to clean up his scars with cottons and alcohol.

“How did you know?” Jisung asked, still not taking away his eyes from his screen. 

“One of your razors is gone,” Minho said, tossing the now-red-cotton to the plastic bag and reached over the other side of the bed for a new one. “And you spent five hours in the bathroom,” he added. “It’s definitely deeper. Did you scratch your stomach too?” 

Jisung sighed, not answering the older’s question and chose to give his focus to a colony of penguins on his screen instead. He flinched a little when Minho applied more alcohol to clean the cuts on his thigh, the stinging pain was back. And he felt alive, as if the pain was the only thing that tied his feet tight on this earth. 

Jisung has always wondered how Minho never got disgusted over him, how Minho managed to touch his scars so easily when Jisung himself was disgusted beyond words over his entire self. He felt like throwing up every time he saw himself in the mirror, seeing how destroyed and messed up he was. Seeing a pair of hollow eyes staring back to him, a pair of eyes filled with nothing but pain and numbness. He was disgusted to even see himself, how could Minho deal with him this easily? 

“Let’s break up, hyung,” Jisung said. Not for the first time, of course. He had been trying to break up with the older for countless amounts of attempts, yet Minho still chose to be stubborn and insisted on staying. He couldn't understand it. Why would a person as good as Minho choose to stay with a disgusting—barely living—thing like him? 

Minho just remained silent, his hand still applying some medicine on Jisung’s stomach. Jisung finally put his phone down and held the older’s wrist, forcing him to stop. Minho granted him a tired look, asking the younger to let him finish. 

Jisung shook his head, pulled his shirt back down to cover his scars and pushed Minho’s hand from him. He woke up with his elbows, and now he was sitting on the bed, right beside the older and glared at him in the eyes. He breathed, 

“Hyung, please. Let’s stop this.” 

Minho tossed the rest of the used cottons in his hand to the plastic bag, narrowing his look on Jisung when he said, “We’ve talked about this, Jisung and no. I’m not breaking up with you.” His voice was stern, cold and hurt. Jisung swore he could see the stars inside Minho’s eyes dimmed one by one, and he hated it. So much. It was upsetting to see.

Minho sighed, “Why are you keep asking me to break up with you? Did I hurt you?” he felt his eyes warmed as he said so, his gaze softened and he added, “Let’s talk this out, Hannie. We can fix this.” 

“No.”

“No hyung you don’t understand this,” Jisung snapped, he could feel his bottled-up emotions boiling inside his head. “Look at me,” he said, standing up on his knees. “Look at me, I’m a broken soul. I’m shattered, hyung. I’m living as an empty human shell and my shell is not even pleasant to see. Scars all over my skin, can’t even remember when was the last time I laughed or smiled genuinely. I can’t even make someone I love happy. So why,” he paused, running out of breath. He closed his eyes as more tears rolled down to his chin, leaving crescent traces on his palm as he tried his best to not shout to the older.

“Why would you stay with someone like me?” he finally asked, his painful tone pricked Minho’s heart, the older couldn’t hold back a drop of tears from running down his cheek. 

“Hannie, you’re- oh God, Hannie,” he wailed, his hands both on the younger’s shoulder. 

“I will never give up on you. You have no idea how much I lo-”

“Then you should,” Jisung cut his words off. He had enough, he needed Minho to break up with him now. He couldn’t bear to see the sadness bleeds inside his eyes because of him anymore. “I already did, hyung. It’s time for you to give up on me,” he finished. 

Jisung couldn’t look Minho in the eyes. He just wanted this to stop, he wanted Minho to find someone that could make him happy, someone that could be the glitter for his beautiful painting, not staining it with a depressing-black color. Minho deserves it, he deserves to be happy with someone better than him. 

“I will get going tomorrow, hyung. Chan hyung told me I get five months to rest, and I will go to my house tomorrow. You guys better be happy when I’m not here” he said, his voice shaking. He gazed up to Minho’s eyes, brushing his soft hair to the back of his ear lovingly and added, 

“Please be happy while I’m gone.” 

  
  


_don't say you love me, please don't_

_I won't understand those words anyway_

“He’s not answering my calls,” Minho said, whining and glaring at his phone. It has been four months since Jisung went out of their dorm, and he never called any of them since then. It was beyond concerning. Chan asked their manager about it and he said Jisung answered to his call weeks ago when he asked about his well-being. However, Jisung never picked up any call or answered any texts his member sent. 

“Maybe he needs some space from us,” was Jeongin’s thoughts. It made sense, Jisung probably felt guilty for taking a hiatus and tried to distance himself from them, but still. It was not the right thing to do. They have been thinking about visiting his house, but it was almost impossible with their hectic schedule and it doesn’t feel right to just come to his house without warnings. 

Minho couldn’t take it anymore; he couldn’t stop thinking of the worst scenario that could happen to Jisung. He still loves the younger after all. He still cares about him even when Jisung pushed him away for a millionth time. He loves him, since the first time they met—when Jisung was still a little boy with vibrant colors shining from his heart-shaped smile—, through the days where Jisung was drowned deep inside the darkness, and he will still do. Minho was tempted to love Jisung for as long as the universe lets him. 

The first time they met was on Minho’s first day as a JYP trainee. A group of new trainees was asked to show anything they prepared, which for Minho was his dancing. He was really nervous; dancing was a big part of who he is and he really didn’t want to mess anything up. 

He walked and stood in front of other trainees, trying to take control of his breath as his heart beat rapidly against his ribcage. The other trainees were cheering on him, but one of them really stood out in Minho’s eyes by looking at him so intensely, his lips slightly apart in awe—revealing the cute bunny teeth he had. He was Jisung, later on after Stray Kids was formed, he admitted that he was amazed with Minho’s fluid movements while dancing and couldn’t take his eyes off Minho’s face. 

“Hyung was so pretty that day,” was what the younger said back then, with a red blush flushing on his cheeks, ears, and down to his neck. Minho chuckled, Jisung was really adorable back then. He remembered how much he adored Jisung when they just debuted, how much he wanted to protect the fondness inside his pair of doe eyes from the cruel world. 

He just wanted Jisung to be happy, although he was completely aware that the world will never let anyone to always be happy. But the world was going harsh to the younger, taking the heart-shaped endearing smile away from him. And Minho refused to lose more. 

“You know what, I’ve had enough,” Minho said, glaring a dagger at Chan who was sitting on the couch with his laptop on his lap. It was two in the morning, Changbin had just said good night and went to sleep, leaving Chan alone in the living room—finishing what he said “one more” for five times since Changbin begged him to sleep, before he finally gave up and went to sleep ahead. 

Now Minho just joined Chan in the living room, sitting on the couch and scrolling down his phone. He couldn’t sleep well these days, in truth he never had slept well since Jisung left, and he knew Chan was just the same (although it was pretty normal to see Chan still working even until five am) but Minho knew the older was thinking about Jisung as well. 

“I get that he was tired or drained or whatsoever, but does that make it right for him to ignore us like this?” he continued. 

A distressed sigh was heard as Chan removed the headphone from his ears and closed his laptop. He told Minho he just asked their manager about Jisung, earlier at the company and their manager said Jisung just called him yesterday—saying that he was fine and feeling better. It was still an unsolved question why Jisung didn't pick up their calls though, but at least he contacted someone. At least they know he was still alive somewhere.

“Hyung,” Minho started, a pair of darkened sacks full of worries has become more prominent under his eyes. “I can't trust Jisung,” he finally said, receiving a furrowed eyebrow from Chan, his features projecting confusion. 

“It's not that he's not believable or anything– wait. Actually, yes,” Minho said, groaned in frustration. Chan was staring at him with a comforting smile, trying to prompt him to keep going. “He really cannot be trusted,” Minho finally said with a deep sigh. 

“I can't stand it. I don't know if he's eating well or not, I don't know if he's okay, I don't even know if he's living safely out there. I can't, I can't do this I don't understand why I'm angry and upset about this but I'm-”

“You're worried about him,” Chan finished Minho's words when he caught a sign that the younger couldn't find the right word. “But he's not a baby anymore, Min. We have to trust him, I'm sure he can take care of himself. Besides he's living with his mom, right? I'm sure she will take care of him too. Maybe even better than what we did.”

“I dunno, hyung. The last time I trusted him he was a living and bleeding mess,” Minho said, an air of mixing between fear and confusion starting to creep into the atmosphere between the two men.

“We can check on him tomorrow, if that can make you feel better,” Chan suggested. He continued, “We don't have any schedule tomorrow.” 

Minho laughed, “You mean tomorrow, or later? It's three in the morning.” 

“Yeah I mean later,” the older scoffed, lips slightly pouting. Minho giggled weakly, his eyes stared blankly to the floor when the corner of his mouth parted and said,

“I hope he's really okay.”

When Jisung suddenly showed up on the next day, Minho thought his hope might have been granted.

Jisung _looked_ okay. 

“Seriously, Jisung?” Changbin said, standing in front of the younger who just arrived, with both his hands resting on his hip and arching eyebrows. “You ignored our calls and messages for four months straight and now you just showed up here? As if it was nothing?”

“I told manager hyung I’m fine,” came Jisung’s quiet reply.

Minho drifted his gaze up and down from Jisung’s head to toe, trying to judge by himself the status “fine” the younger just gave. A pair of dark eye-bags under his eyes were subtly fading, almost blended completely with his natural tan skin. He was wearing a hoodie and mask on though, covering his body completely—which was a disadvantage for Minho because he couldn’t see if he still hurt himself or not. But at least, from the look on his eyes—the way some starlight twinkled faintly inside those full-moon shaped eyes—he looked more alive than the last time Minho saw him. Maybe he was really getting better.

“What’s the point of telling manager hyung that you’re doing okay? What about us? You don’t think we deserve to know how you are doing? You don’t feel like you need to let us know if you’re eating well, sleeping well, or anything? We’re worried sick of you and you just keep pushing us away!”

“Okay Changbin stop,” Chan stepped in the conversation. He approached Jisung with a fond smile on his face, eyes curling into crescent shape and placing his right hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “Welcome home, Sung. Feeling better now?”

Jisung nodded, smiling back to the oldest. “A lot better,” he said. “And I- uh, I’m sorry for not answering your messages or calls.”

“Mind to tell us why?” Felix asked, he was standing with his hands crossed upon his chest, his lips tightened firmly together.

“Uh, there’s no particular reason, actually. I’m just- I dunno, I just feel guilty whenever you called me or texted me so I choose to not replying, or even opening your messages. I was not in the right mind, and I’m sorry for making you worried that much about me. I- yeah, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” Felix said, lighting up the room with his smile. His nose scrunched slightly as he approached Jisung—taking his September twins into a tight hug—and whispered, “I miss you so bad, Sungie.”

A fond smile making an appearance on Jisung’s face as he dropped a tote bag to the floor—freeing his hands so he could embrace Felix’s warm hug as deep as he could. He rested his head on Felix’s shoulder, tears welling inside his eyes when he realized how much he long for Felix’s warmth.

Turns out Jisung couldn’t hold those tears inside, not when he gazed up and was greeted by Chan’s warm smile, not when Hyunjin and Jeongin approached the two of them and hugged them tightly as they saw Jisung was shedding tears. His sight was getting blurry as he cried harder, sob and whimper drawn out of his trembling lips. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the increasing warmth around him when the rest of the members moved and formed a big group hug around him, as his cheeks were growing warmer from the tears he finally shed.

As Chan said,

He was finally home.

_I thought I was going steady,_

_But my minds got the best of me_

Something was off with Jisung. That was the only thought that lingered inside Minho’s mind. He couldn’t even explain it, but he felt something was weird from the younger. It has been almost three months since Jisung back, and he looked normal.

Minho had woken up at six every morning, just so he would be aware if Jisung was walking alone in the midnight again—but no. He wasn’t. Jisung never had his night walk anymore, he never stayed in the bathroom for too long anymore, he even clung and asked for kisses from the other members as what he used to do. Minho was supposed to be happy to see the bright Jisung is finally back, but no. He felt a strong gut telling him that something wasn’t right.

Something was off with his heart-shaped smile. There was something behind his tiny hops in between steps that seemed odd. Minho insisted there was something he hid deeply beneath those normal actions, but he couldn’t figure it out. He just knew something was off, without being able to tell what it was. 

He was still thinking and observing the younger when they were practicing, seeing how the younger’s body moved and compared it to his memory. He was annoyed, everything Jisung did was telling him that nothing was wrong but he still felt that there was got to be something that’s wrong. But he couldn’t figure it out.

“Hyung, you’re glaring,” Seungmin said, poking Minho’s forearm with his elbow. A gasp left his lips when the older fell to the side, completely unprepared of Seungmin’s force. A string of apologizes rolling out of Seungmin’s lips as he ran approaching the older, which Minho returned with a grunt and slap on his side.

“What’s in your mind?” Seungmin asked, offering a can of americano he got from a vending machine earlier—Minho threatened him to buy a coffee or else he won’t forgive him—and crouching down to sit on the practice room floor.

“Nothing,” came Minho’s quiet reply, flicking the cap of the can open and chugging the coffee easily like drinking water. He finished his can in no time, groaned a little as he tried to stand up and threw the can to a big black plastic where they put their trash when practicing.

Minho’s mind was still thinking of Jisung, however, after five times getting called and scolded for making mistakes on their choreography; wrong hands, wrong verse, wrong feet, a beat too late, and tripped over his own feet, he tried to push that thoughts away to the back of his head—filling up his mind with choreography and focusing on their dance trainer.

He managed to get every move right; his body was not tense from all the thoughts anymore. He was finally relaxed and enjoying the dance they were practicing until he heard a loud thud. His eyes caught everyone’s rushed movement from the enormous mirror, gathered into a spot and crouching down, he heard loud noises; arguing, gasps, someone asked “is he okay”, and many other voices mixed within the tense atmosphere, too many things happening in short period of time, he barely managed to proceeded them all.

The time seemed to freeze though, once his eye widened and a gasp left his lips when he saw someone was laying helplessly with his head on Chan’s lap; his face was pale, eyes tightly shut, lips trembling and slightly blue. Minho tried to close his eyes for a few seconds, feeling his heart beating rapidly against his chest—almost leaving him suffocating. His eyes fluttered open in terror, and yes. It wasn’t a temporary nightmare. It was Jisung, Han Jisung. 

_“I thought you said you’re fine?”_

_I wasn’t lying._

_I really thought I was._

He should have felt it.

He should have felt it building up over the course of the day.

But no, he chose to ignore it, which was probably a choice he would regret a little later.

They had a busy day—dance practice, vocal lessons, rap lessons, time in the studio with Changbin and Chan, barely any time to rest. And now they had a group dance practice.

What did it really matter how tight his chest was since the moment he opened his eyes this morning?

Jisung knew himself. He knew this would end into a breakdown. But he had no time, no space, nowhere where he could do it safely, where he could let loose of all the emotions building up inside of him—so he suppressed it. He was always good at this, after all. Good at telling himself to swallow it up and be good and not cause the members any trouble.

It made him jittery. The feeling radiated from the center of his chest into his arms and legs, making his breathing stutter several times as he tried his best to follow the others through the choreography, not make any mistake, do not mess up, for god’s sake.

His head was starting to spin when they were practicing District 9’s choreography again for the fourth time now. All was because Minho kept making mistakes in between the movements, and they all knew their perfectionist dance trainer would not let any tiny mistakes happen. 

It wasn’t usual for Minho to make mistakes though, and Jisung found himself wondering what happened to him—but the thought instantly fades away when he felt the aching pain back, pressing his chest tightly.

Jisung stared at his trembling hands, realizing the last meal he had was a cup of ramyeon three days ago. He did that on purpose, he said he was fine to the members so they won’t worry about him anymore but honestly, he was still craving for pain. He realized Minho had been staring and observing at him all day, probably trying to prove that he was really okay and not hurting himself anymore but no, he still does. He was just getting better at hiding it. Or at least he _thought_ he was getting better at hiding it. 

The dance trainer was calling them for another round of practice, and Jisung tried his best to push every negative thought away, he stood up from his seat, squinting his eyes slightly at the sudden dizziness, and got back to his position. He could do this.

_He couldn’t._

At the exact moment where he felt relieved when he thought the aching pain inside his head and chest was gone, they came back in fullest force; drawing out a pained whimper out of his lips as he tugged the shirt upon his chest with his trembling hands, panting and desperately gasping for air as he felt every energy that left beneath his skin just flew away, his sight was getting all blurry.

He knew he was falling and his head hit the floor hard from the way the ceiling he had been staring at was getting further, but he couldn’t feel it; everything was _too_ much, too many things happened at the same time, too fast for his paralyzed mind to proceed. He could hear voices calling his name and his head was getting touched by someone before he completely blacked out.

“—Sung”

“Jisung!”

He felt his head was filled with cotton, and it was as if he was looking over a highway from a bird's perspective. The rush of the wind was the only thing he could hear. Far below him, specks of color moved in blurry motions, fading into each other as if they were all just part of one big stream. They probably were.

Something as trivial as 'time' didn't exist in this place. Jisung kept watching the scene and listening to the wind, and there was nowhere else for him to be, so he let the colors take over. It was better that way.

He had no idea how long he had been floating above the highway. When it eventually faded out of view, a much more boring, white wall took its place. There was a face in front of the wall, a face with two eyes that were turned to Jisung, and Jisung realized he was on the bed.

Weren’t they practicing earlier?

Right. He must have passed out.

The face, he realizes, was Chan's face, and his leader was watching him with eyes full of worries and fears. It takes another second for him to notice that Chan has a hand on a transparent bag full of yellow-ish water—it looked like pee, no offense—which has a tube that goes right into the back of Jisung’s left hand. Jisung vaguely recognized it as saline water, he stared down to his hand, trying to wiggle his fingers weakly—didn’t move as far as he thought it would, they were still trembling hard—but he could feel it. That was a relief.

“How are you feeling?” Chan asked, his eyes sparked with comfort and a reassuring smile appeared on his features.

“I feel fine,” Jisung said, surprised at how drained and exhausted he got just from saying three words. He closed his eyes when he felt his head was spinning again, his chest heavened and that was when he realized he had an oxygen tube on his nose. _He wasn’t fine, at all._ He let out a deep sigh and added, “I feel so dizzy.”

“Don’t force your eyes open, it’s okay,” Chan reassured, rubbing Jisung’s shoulder softly.

"What happened?" he finds himself asking, it was somehow comforting to know that his eyes were closed; he couldn’t see Chan’s expression when he talked.

"You passed out. Stay still, I’m calling the nurse. She told me to call her as soon as you were awake, she said your blood sugar and pressure was dropping. That’s why you blacked out."

Jisung nodded, even though he could sense there were some unleashed words remaining on the tip of Chan’s tongue he somehow kept from saying. Oh, wait, blood sugar? They must’ve known he starved himself now. Maybe that was what Chan wanted to ask but he didn’t, who knows why. Maybe he just didn’t want to overwhelm Jisung with such questions when he was barely awake.

"Where are the others?" he decided to ask. His mind still felt kind of fuzzy, as if all his thoughts are in some secret code that has to be deciphered before he can understand and express them.

"Most of them are with our manager in the waiting room right next to us, but the nurse told them to stay back so you don't get overwhelmed. Felix was here, but I told him to get back with others while I’m here waiting for you. Do you want me to keep talking?"

Bless Chan and his considerate heart. He must have figured that Jisung could use a distraction. He already found himself in the midst of processing to nod when a sudden thought hit him. Chan was waiting for him here. He passed out when they were practicing and the members brought him to the clinic. They have had enough. Jisung didn’t want to be an ungrateful selfish brat and ask Chan to keep talking. He was probably tired from all of the mess he made.

"No, it’s okay."

The nurse returned in a few minutes, Jisung flinched at the knocking sound and the screeching of the door made against the floor. He could hear Chan tell the nurse Jisung was awake and he forced himself to open his eyes, but the light was too blinding. The moment his pupils caught the light, his sight was getting blurry and his head was spinning heavily again—he felt himself falling, despite he was already laying on the bed—, so he gave up and closed his eyes back.

After a few minutes of checking his blood pressure and other things—Jisung was too exhausted to catch any complicated words and explanation the nurse said—he felt Chan tapped his shoulder with his fingers, very gently.

“Jisung?” he asked calmly. “You’re still with me?”

Jisung hummed in response, his nose scrunched with his flinched expression when he felt the stinging pain as his hum vibrated up to his head. Chan seemed to catch his response, his next words were full of worries.

“Do you think you can sit?”

 _How can I tell you,_ Jisung thought. He was scared to say anything, given a single hum is already putting him in such pain, he was definitely not looking forward to what kind of pain his voice will bring him to. He couldn’t shake his head either, even laying still was making him feel dizzy and he felt like falling into an endless hole if it was not because his hand’s grip on the sheet that convinced him he wasn’t actually falling.

“It’s okay,” Chan said. His voice remained incredibly calm, touching his eardrums really softly. Jisung thought he could fall asleep with just Chan’s talking voice, if it wasn’t because of the aching pain in his head and chest that kept him wide awake. “You can keep laying there, Sung. The nurse said she gave you medicine, you might feel sleepy a little bit later. I will still be here if you need me.”

Right. It would be better if he could actually sleep. He was too exhausted to think about anything else. 

  
  


_I just hope I was finally asleep_

_Wandering in a dreamland_

_Where all these nightmares don’t exist_

  
  


“You need to talk to Minho once you’re home,” Chan carefully said, staring at Jisung warmly. He helped Jisung to pack his things from the hospital today. He had been allowed to go home with some prescribed medicines and vitamins, thankfully he had gotten a lot better since last week when he first came. 

The younger boy let out a shallow sigh. Minho was the only person who had never visited him in the hospital. He might have scared the hell out of him on that day, and he felt bad. He knew Minho had been watching him all the time since he came back; trying to make sure he was really okay so he understood completely how the older might feel. 

To know that Jisung, once again has fooled him; lying so easily and saying that he was okay when he actually wasn’t. Knowing that he couldn’t stop Jisung from finally falling apart and collapsing right in front of his eyes, to know that he couldn’t protect Jisung as he wished. He must’ve felt guilty and hurt. 

“Jisung, can we talk for a moment?” Chan asked again, Jisung felt the older was asking him too carefully, almost like walking on a rope; afraid any wrong move will make him fall. 

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, moving his bag to the table and sitting back slowly on the bed. He had some scenario possibility inside his head, maybe Chan wanted to ask him about his reason for not eating? Or did he see his scars? Will Chan ask about it? Or was it something else? He felt Chan’s eyes staring at him, but he couldn’t manage to bring his head up—his gaze fixed still to the ground as he toyed with his toes. 

“I’ve always told you, right. You can tell me anything,” he started with his calm voice. “I’ve always trusted you, Sung. Even when everyone keeps convincing me that you cannot be trusted, even when everyone tried to tell me you can’t protect yourself alone, I’ve always tried to trust you. I still found myself hoping you will come to me, or anyone else when you can’t hold your problems alone.” 

He paused, studying Jisung’s expression—contemplating whether he had to continue this topic or not. Jisung didn’t seem to react badly to the topic, though. He was still toying with his toes and ripped part of his jeans, refusing to look at Chan in the eye. He decided to continue.

“I know you don’t want to be anyone’s burden. But I need you to realize that you will never be a burden by letting out your problems. You keep bottling up your thoughts and piling them into a neverending stack, Jisung. This isn’t good for you. You will only dig a bottomless hole and fall into it, trapped inside your emotions and drowning inside them. We care about you, a lot. Please tell us when something happens.” 

“I really don’t know,” Jisung suddenly said, he flinched a little as he realized he just spoke his thoughts too loud. “I don’t know where to start, hyung.”

“You can start from the beginning.”

“That’s the problem,” Jisung seized, he knew Chan hasn’t finished talking yet but he can’t keep his mouth shut anymore. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know where this all started. I don’t remember any specific date or anything, I just- don’t know. It kind of just, just happened.”

“That’s okay. Just start with what you remember, and tell the rest as it occurs to you. I don’t mind things being out of order, I just want you to talk about it,” Chan coaxed, worried Jisung wouldn’t end up telling him anything, and instead would return to bottling everything up.

“I mean, I guess it sort of started during middle school? I wasn’t very popular back then, and I was well aware of it,” Jisung started quietly, taking a pause before continuing on. “I got bullied a lot. I would wake up and dread going to school, because I knew the other kids would make it miserable for me.” 

Too afraid to look at Chan for his reaction, Jisung continued on slowly, obviously uncomfortable with what he was admitting. “It got to the point where I hated being alive. I was so sick of being me that I just wanted it all to stop. Ugh, I hate talking about this,” he said as he started to tear up again, burying the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tried to hide his face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s good that you’re talking about this.” Chan responded, subtle panic in his voice. He was terrified Jisung would suddenly freeze up and never get what he so obviously desperately needed to say out of his system. In an effort to sooth him, he started rubbing Jisung’s shoulder in awkward circles again. Jisung took a few deep breaths before returning to speaking.

“You promise you won’t freak out on me, right? Please don’t judge me for this,” he asked pleadingly, glancing up at Chan for the first time since he started crying with watery, irritated eyes.

“Of course not, Jisung,” Chan said quickly, anxious to keep Jisung talking, “I’d never judge you.”

Upon hearing that, Jisung took another long inhale, and then started speaking again. “So, uh, to deal with it all I guess, I started hurting myself,” he said nervously, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. He hoped Chan wouldn’t hear his words, even though the logical part of him knew that was impossible. No longer quiet as timid after Chan’s reassurance, to gauge his reaction, Jisung looked up at Chan again, and saw only the slightest amount of visible shock on his face. Unexpectedly to Jisung, his expression was mostly one of compassion and understanding. He nodded at Jisung, silently encouraging him to continue talking.

“I did not really start hurting myself that seriously as a teenager. I was just, banging my head to the wall, or peeling my lip skin just to get the satisfaction of the pain. But then, something happened recently and that was kinda where I started to lose control on this,” he continued, but the twinge of guilt started to form inside his stomach; he felt like throwing up. He couldn’t do this. The figure of Chan’s with his beautiful colors started to appear inside his mind, putting him in terror of accumulated fear of staining Chan’s painting with his dark ink. 

He pulled himself down into his knees even deeper, shaking his head when Chan asked him to go on. He can’t. He couldn’t tell Chan about this, he didn’t want to ruin him. He had to hold this in, he will deal with this alone, he didn’t need anyone, he just had to swallow this black poisonous thoughts alone and pretend he was never hurt, pretend that he was okay like what he usually does. 

“Jisung.”

“I can’t, hyung I can’t,” he whispered inside his knees, his body trembling all the way through when he continued to shake his head vigorously. He couldn’t do this.

“Hey, hey Jisung? Okay that’s enough, I’m sorry for forcing you,” Jisung heard Chan’s calm voice, Chan told him to stop. That was a relief. He didn’t have to tell him everything. He won’t stain his beautiful painting. He won’t ruin him. 

Jisung and his uncontrollable demon won’t ruin anyone. 

  
  


_I see those lenses full of fears,_

_And I know._

_You never feared the world._

_You feared yourself instead._

  
  


A knock—no—two knocks was heard on his door. Jisung sighed, a part of himself was hoping Minho to show up once the door screeched open, but no. It was Seungmin. He was smiling fondly at Jisung, approached him to his bed and ruffled his fluffy hair. Jisung whined with the sudden touch from Seungmin—who was almost never the one to start touching others—but Seungmin only returned his whine with giggles. 

It has almost been two weeks since Jisung back at home. A lot things have happened, from the members asked him about what happened—which Chan answered with a short explanation of low blood pressure without mentioning anything Jisung said to him that day—, Felix and Hyunjin becoming all clingy to him; they really weren’t willing to let him go _anywhere_ without one of them being dragged like a koala on his back, everyone was trying to always be there with Jisung, everyone but Minho. 

Jisung missed Minho, a lot. He tried to act normal whenever they had dinner together as eight; kept joking around and clinging onto the older like he usually does, but it just didn’t feel right. Minho played along when they were in front of the members but once they arrived in their dorm, Minho would go straight to his room. Not even glancing at Jisung a little.

Jisung missed him, a lot.

“I’m happy you’re finally here, you know?” Seungmin said with an excited tone, pulling Jisung back to the present.

“You always push me away whenever I try to kiss you and now you said you’re happy I’m here, huh? I thought you hated me,” Jisung teased, poking Seungmin’s side happily. 

“Anyways. I have something for you, Sung.”

Seungmin held out a single piece of paper on his right hand—they looked like they had been scrunched up and getting straightened up again, and despite the words written in there couldn’t be read by Jisung yet, he could feel the despair and frustration from the way the ink bleed through the paper and the pressure of the pen leaving traces all the way to the other side—intriguing him to wonder what could be written in there.

He took the paper from Seungmin’s hand, standing up and sitting on the side of his bed. He glanced over Seungmin, hoping he would explain something to him—but nope, he didn’t. Seungmin just stood there with a hopeful smile, patting Jisung’s shoulder and said, “Read that, okay? I hope you will understand it,” while walking outside the room—leaving Jisung alone with his thoughts and a piece of paper filled with unknown words.

Jisung pulled up the paper close into his eyes, moving towards the nightstand so he could get more light from the yellow lamp, and he began to read it. 

_Hannie (:_

_I’m the worst at words, we both know that._

_I just wanted to let you know, every painting has their own stories and you will never destroy another painting by sharing your own story. Which means that you will never stain another painting on the process of painting your own canvas. Because we are all still in our ways._

_We are all progressing._

_Every painting is different based on the eyes that see them. The way you see your painting and colors with the way we see yours could be different._

_And that also applies to the way you see us and the way we see ourselves._

_Every painting has its shadows._

_And whenever there is darkness, there is also light._

_Both light and darkness are the ones who create the painting._

_You were never a destroyer, Jisung._

_You are a complementer, a strong color to strengthen your own and other’s paintings._

It was overwhelming. He knew it was Minho, he could tell just from the handwriting. He figured out Minho had seen his notebook he left on his bed when he read the letter about paintings, that notebook was the only place Jisung wrote his thoughts completely unfiltered; the poisonous one, the happy one, proven by the way the next page after depressing words about painting was filled with self-indulgent wordstrings, describing the way someone’s eyes lit up like a stretching daisy petals in the middle of winter night. 

Jisung stood up from his bed almost instantly, not giving his demon enough time to attack him with other negative thoughts to stop him or slow him down. He had no time, he just wanted to see Minho. To hug him closely and tell him how thankful Jisung was to have a boyfriend like him, to tell him how Jisung loves him with his entire heart, his mind was full of him. 

He arrived in front of the door he has been longing for, an oak door with a bunch of stickers of three cats (Soonie, Doongie, Dori) almost leaving no space on the wood for anything else. Jisung was really in a rush that he couldn’t even collect his thoughts to knock before ramming in, being greeted by Minho’s shocked face for a few seconds, before it melted into fondness he missed so badly.

He pulled the older into a tight hug, refusing to let go even when Minho made confused noises and asking him if he was okay. He didn’t realize he had tears on his cheeks, sobs and whimpers spilling out of his lips in between his hurried speech. “I love you, I love you so much, hyung I love you so much-” he tried his best to continue speaking, but when all he could force out was a couple syllables broken up by his own tears, he gave up. 

Minho gently placed a hand and rubbed on Jisung’s shoulder, in an attempt to soothe him and calm him down. This just increased the volume of Jisung’s sobs, so he quickly redacted it, and murmured to him instead, “Hey, princess you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere, Jisung. You can cry but also try to focus on your breathing for me, okay?”

Attempting to follow his advice, Jisung took a couple shuddering breaths. His sobs returned immediately after however, and so he took Minho’s other words to heart. He pressed his head into Minho’s chest, and cried. 

He cried until he thought he was going to throw up, and his eyeballs might come out of his head. He cried until his breath came in shaky, irregular gasps that made his whole body lurch as he desperately tried to fill his lungs. He cried until his whole body shook, cradled up with Minho’s warmth engulfing him. He cried until he ran out of tears, and all that was left was a splotchy complexion and red, puffy eyes. True to his word, Minho stayed right next to him, occasionally offering attempts at reassurance and reminders to breathe.

When Jisung’s sobs began to quiet down, Minho’s hand returned to his shoulder. This time, it seemed to comfort Jisung, and he slowly raised his head from the older’s chest, his damped doe eye staring into Minho’s sharp cat pair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice catching in his throat a little. 

The thoughts he was pushing away earlier were getting back stronger, attacking him with a flood of guilt and worries. He felt himself slowly drowned, feeling lost in the midst of suffocating air and his mind just went numb and empty from battling with too many thoughts at the same time. He could only apologize, apologize, and apologize, hoping whatever it was will stop attacking him and leave him alone.

“That’s really unnecessary, Hannie,” Minho said, wiping the tears from the younger’s cheeks. “You don’t have to say sorry for expressing your emotions. You’re a human. It’s normal to cry, just as normal it is to laugh and smile.” 

Jisung nodded, burying his head back into Minho’s chest. He tried to collect all the energy left inside his body to focus on Minho’s heartbeat instead of the overwhelming thoughts inside his head that were telling him to pull apart, telling him to stop bothering his hyung, telling him to stop being a crybaby, telling him to stop being a burden. It seemed to work a little, he could breathe better and he could sort the thoughts one by one, not all at the same time. 

“Hannie? You’re still with me?” Minho asked, realizing Jisung has become too unresponsive for a few minutes. Jisung nodded his head against Minho’s chest, his hand still tugging on the older’s black tee. He still needed this. To be surrounded by Minho’s scent, with Minho’s heart pounding on the same beat as his own, distracting him from the rapid thoughts flooding and trying to pull his mind to drown.

“I am thankful,” Minho said, rubbing the back of Jisung’s head softly. “That you see me as the night sky. For a moment I thought I don’t deserve to be likened with such a pretty view. That’s just not how I see myself all these times, you know?” 

Minho gave a good amount of pause for Jisung to interpret his words with his slow mind. A small smile curled on Jisung’s face when he understood what Minho was talking about, and Minho added, “It applied to you as well. You don’t see yourself the way I see you.” 

Minho heard a chuckle from Jisung’s lips, and the younger asked, “How do you see me, though?” 

“You’re like a home. A friend, a companion, like a soft and cool breeze touching my skin comfortably somewhere with the amazing sceneries I really love. Like a journey, but I am not actually familiar with the journey so I was scared of it, but at the same time, you’re also like a resting place in that journey so I feel the confidence and security even when I am far away from my comfort zone.” 

“Like a journey but also a home, in the same person,” he concluded, a proud smile on his face.

Minho laughed when Jisung slapped his chest with his fist, but his laugh faded away when he realized his tee Jisung was holding got wet. The younger’s shoulder shook as another sob left his lips, delivering Minho into another state of worry. 

“Hey, you’re okay?” he asked, his hand moved back to the back of Jisung’s head and started to rub it gently, the younger leaned to the touch.

“You- you’re- ram-bling,” Jisung barely said, taking another shuddering breath. “You’re rambling nonsense about me.” 

“I’m just being honest. That’s how I see you.” 

“Exactly, hyung. That’s why I cried.” 

The demon couldn’t fool him anymore that night. Not when his ear was pressed so closely into Minho’s chest, hearing the way his heart pounding with sincerity; there were no lies. He always thought everyone was never actually cared. He always thought he was meaningless; just a vulnerable baby his members have to take care of with no other option. He always thought everyone’s sweet and reassuring words towards him—telling him how meaningful he is for them—was lies. 

He didn’t think the same anymore.

They cared, so much. So much more than Jisung could imagine.

He poured all his remaining tears and almost all of his pain—telling him he was still hurting himself, telling him about his family, how he managed to move his mom into a safer apartment when he was on hiatus so his father won’t be able to hurting her, he told everything—into Minho’s chest, letting the pounding sound of his heartbeat defeating the demon inside him, pulling him into a peaceful space he never imagined he would ever witness. He was safe, with Minho’s warmth engulfing him completely.

He thought he will never find a home, but he was wrong.

He was finally home. 

“I love you,” he whispered. If there were a word stronger than those three words, he would definitely use it. Those three words didn’t seem enough for him, given how thankful beyond words he was for Minho’s existence in his life. He decided to add, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Hannie. I really really love you.” 

“Thank you for not giving up on yourself.”

  
  


_Allow me to be the fireflies_

_To light up your never-ending dark tunnel_

_Reminding you to keep going_

_as we approach the light together_

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos and comments are /really/ appreciated ^^ love to know your thoughts about this story! ♡


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